The way home

If there is one thing a group of bleeding-heart, tree-hugging ex-pats know nothing about, it’s auto repair. 

So when Cary’s Toyota Surf (which he had just picked up from the mechanic the previous morning for the trip out of town) started spewing black smoke from the tail pipe about 6 km into the 12 km dirt “road,” we buckled down for a long day.  To be fair, Cary’s car gave its best, tolerating an extra kilometer with some rests and even an ill-advised attempt at a duct tape repair before completely dying 5 km from the tarmac. Because there was clearly no cell phone service, we had a lucky break as our new friends Rafa and Emily came zipping down the road (in a Corolla!) and gave Nora and Emily a ride to town to arrange for a mechanic to help us.  Eventually,  the lodge manager, Innocent, showed up to tow Cary (with an old piece of rope and a pickup truck) down the rest of the mountain and lead us to a mechanic (three mechanics, actually) who proceeded to diligently work on Cary’s car for the remainder of the afternoon.

And that is the story of why a group of 11 expats spent the afternoon outside an abandoned building in the tiny town of Ntchisi.  And the photos explain why none of us minded.